Is there a doctor in the house
Tom and Jerry get the mouse
Through each pilgrim centered flow
The harm for those who stayed home from school
Avoiding overtime is not cool
Those per a chance at a glance
Many of us lost faith in the judicial system
Trying to become the voice
Listen to the Albatross as they fly by
The socialite who kindly gets on fire
Proned to help the folly

Vemeer, Cezanne, Canova,
And so, so many more
Have each depicted beauty yet,
Their works cannot compare
With my lady.

Each time I see her there is something new
As with any great work of art,
Some subtle nuance beckons me
That sets her far apart.

Apart From any painting that in marbled gallery hangs,
Apart from any sculpture cold and white,
My lady glows and stands above
Any man made work of art.

in my prime
when things were fine
always being so kind
stepping up and flying
In all times keep trying
readying to shine
hosting nice buddies
having much goodies
eating munchy cookies
hanging in my studies

was that a crime?
Everytime I'm crying
plans burnt frying
why am i suffering?
stock stuttering
smelling like thyme
life's bitter like lime
hoping to aligne
while i'm still alive

Let the fields that cover the dust
Vanish to emptiness
Like the imprint of a bird on the sky
To unknown light again

When it receives me
The feeling of tomorrow
I could be silent walking

Peaks of the hilltop
Depths of the river
Carrying you to the source

When it receives me
The feeling of tomorrow
Bathing in promise

if your name is melancholy,
the scant tidbits I know of French.

perfect cold day to down
a cup of hot chocolate, java or joe
in tandem with an intelligent conversation
that easily doth flow
twould be more enjoyable
than spending gobs o dough
clowning around like Bozo.

A number to be reckoned with,
A lot of meaning for me,
Eleven,
Some say angel wings,
But also a connection,
With two words,
Synchronicity and alignment.

I had a vision,
Of a white bed head,
Which looked very much
Like a tombstone.
On that bed head,
In thick black writing,
Four plus seven equals eleven.

I could see it clearly,
In my dreams.
And I awoke,
With that vivid picture,
In my mind.

I can accept the rain
because I know
the sun's hiding
behind that cloud.

Yet, with chronic pain
no let up
but constant
again and again.

Like a weight
that can't be lifted
or a stain
Vanish can't remove.

A persistent
spell of weather
a storm
without end.

I can accept the rain
way better than pain
when the sun
comes out again.

looking through a shadow
where time couldn’t belong
Is there a certain way to meet the end

the space between breaths
comes to stillness
calling where heaven graces

a feeling from a memory
changes the direction

lenses of patterned light
cast onto the room

when it receives me
I’m held completely
and miss the story that reminds of promise
where I can hold you up from something

Is there a certain way to meet the end

tell tale sign where
winter storm Demi left her mark.

Beautiful and bountiful visual scene
(seldom seen around
tri-state geographic area
for quite a few years,
where temperate global warming
spelled unseasonably warm winters)
trumps the inauguration
for breathtaking view.

Immaculate conception birthed
awesome aesthetic spectacular
blinding heavenly creation.

Clouds bending
to the Earth, leaving
droplets suspended midair,
glittering footprints
glimmer for a moment.

Children, sweet and innocent,
dream in their beds
of sprites and of
fairies light afoot in
the spring fog.

The dancers are drawn
out of hiding. Tumbles,
twists, and pirouettes galore
like nothing human
eyes have ever seen.